Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1458 When a Demigod Answers

"You might not be aware," Theodore started, his words carrying through the hushed plaza, "but apart from our garrison, the Northern Bastion of Menethis currently harbors almost two million people."

He halted briefly, allowing the figure to resonate. "Two million. Even with the strictest portions of the weakest porridge, the everyday grain needs are a daunting challenge."

Two million. Such was the harsh count of those enduring. When the Empire had exiled them, the first flight had turned into a massacre. Numerous had escaped into the wilderness, resorting to brigandage or perishing in the filth. Others had perished on the endless, savage journey, their corpses littering the route to this fortress. Even in this place, demise persisted—taken by the siege battles, or even more horribly, by the poisons in the bug flesh when starvation pushed people to insanity.

"I have to reveal the harsh reality," Theodore declared, his features set in stern determination. "Our stores of grain are depleted."

The quiet shattered. It wasn't a whisper, but a wild surge of alarm that rushed across the assembly. The fright endured for an hour, a tempest of sobs and yells that gradually burned out into a gloomy, anxious hush.

"We can't consume the shell meat! It's toxic!"

"We're finished! No chance remains!"

Theodore remained steadfast. He unleashed his Legendary aura, a dense, palpable force that quelled the frenzy right away, compelling the gathering to yield.

"This isn't a haven!" he thundered. "The Northern Bastion is a burial ground. We were left behind here. I was discarded here, exactly like you."

He aligned with them, bound in bitterness toward the Kingdom that had escaped. The assembly sobbed, their voices a soft, sorrowful wail. Countless understood the situation, yet they held their tongues, fastening their final frantic trusts on the Prince to conjure a wonder from the ruins. In a different existence, Theodore could have been such a wonder. But not this day. Not by himself.

"Harsh, isn't it?" Theodore's tone lowered, laden with self-disgust. "I convinced myself I could guide us toward a fresh beginning. Yet the horde never ceases. And the most dire fact? The true assault hasn't truly begun. The abyssal portals haven't completely unlocked. If we're crumbling already, what will occur next? Where do we find our rescue?"

He bellowed the final phrases, striding the platform like a trapped beast.

General Oswin Calder positioned himself behind his prince, expression neutral. He recognized the balance: nine portions of bleak truth, one portion of deliberate display. It was drama—the vital talent of rulers and leaders—and Theodore executed his part flawlessly.

"I suffer deeply," Theodore went on, his voice breaking. "Observing our provisions disappear, finding no route to endurance... I have let you down."

The confession lingered in the atmosphere. The crying in the plaza grew forlorn, the noise of a populace embracing their fate.

"If no hope persists..." Theodore murmured, the words boosted by sorcery to touch every listener, "...why not create our own?"

The assembly quieted.

"If a single force on this land can bestow us existence, it's him," Theodore stated, his tone ascending with a zealot's passion. "The Demigod of the Stoneheart Horde. The partner of Princess Ava. The sire of Prince Kronos. The mightiest entity to emerge in ten thousand years."

He extended his arms broadly. "The Giant King, Orion Stoneheart!"

The title ignited a flame.

"Giant King!"

"Giant King!"

The refrain started as a murmur and swelled into a surge. Theodore grasped the surge. He spun and tore away the dark cloth from the massive form behind him.

The sculpture of a Titan—four visages, eight limbs—dominated the plaza, hewn from icy rock yet emanating strength.

"We possess no wealth anymore," Theodore shouted. "Yet we hold the gains of our endurance, the arms of our foes! And we hold our spirits! I dedicate it all to the Giant King! Bestow us refuge!"

He bowed low before the icon. Like a crashing tide, two million individuals knelt, foreheads pressing the ground.

"Giant King, heed us! Bestow us refuge!"

The invocation trembled the ground, a collective, frantic roar of belief. It was a display of loyalty seldom witnessed in the annals of human realms.

Distant, in the core of Stoneheart City.

Orion's eyes snapped open.

A rush of faith energy, strikingly clear and thick, surged into his hand. Via the ethereal connection, he viewed the sight of the Northern Bastion—the effigy, the prostrate throng, the frantic, booming supplications.

He hadn't anticipated Theodore to commit so boldly to this move. It was a grand boon—not merely to Orion, but to the Horde, and to the eventual base of Ava and Kronos.

It was a brilliant ploy crafted by Theodore and King Harold. For endurance, the Prince couldn't simply align with the Horde; he needed to merge his folk so deeply they fused with it. Theodore had triumphed. The ordeal, the hopelessness, the unveiling—it had all served as a forge for this instant.

He was securing his people's passage on the sole vessel not foundering.

"Two limbs, single trunk. The bloodline endures," Orion pondered, detecting the purpose. "Cunning old schemers."

As a Demigod, the aims of the human King Harold and the Saint .

***

The supplications in the Northern Bastion of Menethis continued unabated. They evolved into a steady, pulsing rhythm under the heavens.

"We implore the Giant King! Bestow us refuge! Guard the Northern Bastion!"

The atmosphere thickened. As the shared resolve of two million lives streamed toward the rock likeness, a change gripped it. The crude contours of the four-faced Titan started to alter. Rock moved like molten, honing, polishing, until the figure displayed the unmistakable, awesomely realistic countenance of Orion Stoneheart.

Witnessing the icon embrace their tribute, Theodore knelt once more, his tone fracturing with urgent zeal.

"We vow our loyalty to the Stoneheart Horde! We dedicate our spirits to the Giant King! We yield to your command!"

"Bestow us your sacred safeguard! We are your followers!"

It was no longer a request for help; it was a complete, absolute capitulation.

"To the Devout, I bestow Refuge."

The voice didn't emerge from the breeze. It echoed from the rock, pulsing in the bones of every person, female, and youth.

Hummmm.

The hum intensified, dislodging grit from the damaged structures.

"To the Devout, I bestow Refuge."

A further surge of tone, vaster and more commanding than the initial, rolled over the settlement. Holy might gathered around the sculpture, setting it ablaze with a dazzling, multicolored glow that cut through the murk of the bug-infested firmament.

"To the Devout, I bestow Refuge."

Orion's voice, timeless and remote, boomed a third occasion, surging through the Bastion like a tangible rush.

The radiance burst forth. It flooded the city, banishing the darkness. For fifteen minutes, the wonder entranced the inhabitants. When the splendor at last dimmed, the heavens no longer permitted the swarm entry. A see-through, aureate shield now curved above the Northern Bastion—a godly ward.

The drone of the insectoids beyond collided futilely against the barrier. They were unable to breach it.

Prince Theodore rose. He gazed at the golden vault overhead, his breathing labored. He released a sigh that seemed held within him for ages.

"My Lord... we... we truly achieved it."

At his back, General Oswin Calder shed tears freely. The wonder signified beyond mere continuance; it signified they had been acknowledged. They fell under the watch of a Demigod.

"Indeed, General. We have." Theodore faced him, his look shifting. The wild urgency had vanished, supplanted by a solemn weight. "But heed me well, Oswin. Never address me as 'Prince' once more. Starting now, I serve as the Castellan."

"The Kingdom has vanished. Its splendor and its defense have departed. We no longer serve the Crown. We are members of the Stoneheart Horde."

It ought to have been a degrading confession for nobility, yet Theodore uttered the phrases with deep ease.

"My father spoke truly," he muttered, partly to his thoughts. "My frame was too slight to support the heavens solitary."

He surveyed the plaza, observing the folk gazing upward at the golden shield in awe. This was an epoch of legend, a tale they would recount to their descendants.

Assigning a unit of elite guards to the statue, Theodore guided Oswin from the plaza.

They progressed leisurely. Since the Bastion's inception, Theodore had seldom strolled these avenues; he had merely dashed along them amid emergencies. Now, he beheld the toll.

Debris sprawled everywhere. The aerial insectoids had demolished the higher tiers of the city. Businesses that once thrived were now hollow jaws of splintered wood and fractured panes. Pillaged shops, tumbled entrances... and from the gloom, the persistent, faint groans of the injured and the famished.

The magnificence had fled. Solely the debris lingered.

"It shall revive," Theodore breathed, a pledge to the deserted lane. "I shall restore life to this city."

"Castellan," Oswin uttered, grappling with the fresh designation as he emerged from the ritual's wonder. "What action follows? The barrier safeguards us, yet the stores stay bare."

"Relax, General. His Majesty has provided the solution."

Theodore paused and pivoted, withdrawing an item from his attire. It resembled a compass, yet forged of black stone and vibrating with mystical force.

"What is that?"

"A Rift Anchor. A present from the Giant King."

Orion wasn't a deity who received without reciprocating. He had embraced the widespread shift and the substantial offering of belief; the barrier served as the prompt defense, but the Anchor was the vital link.

"When placed, this will rip a steady route through the void," Theodore clarified. "We shall connect straight to Stoneheart City. Supplies, remedies, support—they will stream from the heartland."

"Castellan... we..." Oswin faltered, the truth of their deliverance at last striking him. They weren't merely staving off demise. They were destined to thrive.

"Recall, Oswin. No more 'Prince.' Simply Castellan." Theodore's gaze was keen. If he held to his noble rank, he would offend the genuine nobility of the Horde—Prince Kronos. Theodore understood his role.

"Clear... Castellan."

Oswin inclined his head profoundly. Yet as he observed Theodore's form ahead, the veteran general whispered inwardly to himself. You may lack the rank of Prince in the Horde, my Lord. But to me, you will forever be the Prince of Menethis.

Stoneheart City, The Royal Spire.

The northern firmament roiled with ethereal burden. A huge apparition of a Titan had flashed in the void, a ripple potent enough to notify Lilith at once.

She had arrived at the Spire, discovering Orion amid the ritual's lingering tremors. As partners in matrimony, seclusion frequently sparked desire.

At present, the gale had subsided. The chamber was still, except for the hearth's snap. Lilith nestled in Orion's embrace, her flesh warmed, attending as he described the scheming display by Theodore and Harold.

"Be it planned or born of necessity, they demonstrated dedication," Lilith reflected, leaning her head on his enormous torso.

The Northern Bastion brimmed with ordinary folk—individuals lacking sorcery, lacking might, merely everyday beings seeking security. Incorporating them into the Horde supplied a vast reservoir of faith, and by divesting them of their homeland ties, Theodore had reduced the threat of later uprising.

"They needn't have gone to such lengths," Orion remarked, his palm casually holding her bosom, thumb drawing languid, steady loops over the tender flesh—a custom he savored in their serene times. "For Kronos and Ava's benefit, I would have rescued them from peril anyway."

Lilith pressed into his caress, a faint, satisfied grin on her mouth. She relished his ownership; serving as the focus of a Demigod's regard was an intoxicating elixir.

"Heh... that's not equivalent, my love," she cooed.

"There's a vast gap between being a refugee rescued through benevolence, and being a vassal guarded by obligation. That sire and offspring duo... they grasped precisely their scheme."